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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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Shelf 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



INASMUCH 



ELISHA P. THURSTON 




PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION 
AND SABBATH-SCHOOL WORK 

PHILADELPHIA 



.7r 




COPYRIGHT, 189 4, BY 

THE TRUSTEES OF THE 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION 
AND SABBATH-SCHOOL WORK. 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



Westcott & Thomson, 
Stereotypers and Electrotypers , Philada. 



INASMUCH. 



CHAPTER I. 

A MATTER IN WHICH BANKING AND BENEVOLENCE 
FAIL TO AGREE. 

" Opportunities are the tests of character. 
They are the scales on which human judgment is 
weighed. A life is successful or it is a failure as 
its opportunities are utilized or neglected. " 

Stephen Endicott, a well-preserved man of about 
sixty years, was the speaker, and he spoke impres- 
sively, as if he would have the words carry with 
them the weight of his experience and judgment. 

His words were true and his judgment was not 
at fault ; and the remark, taken with all its mean- 
ing, might be set down as a maxim to live by. 

But these words were not the whole of what 
Stephen Endicott had said. They were only the 
summing up of a previous conversation. 

Deacon Goodwell had appealed to Mr. Endi- 
cott, who was a banker and a man of large means, 
to help a neighbor — one James Williamson, a 
man who had long been struggling bravely, ear- 
nestly, and honestly against financial embarrass- 
ment. He had seemingly made little headway. 

3 



4 



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Prosperous people looked upon him as a failure — 
as a man not really entitled to consideration in 
any important matters in the community. He 
was heard, perhaps, with tolerance, but nothing 
more. Now, in middle age, he was very sick 
and almost without means. 

Deacon Goodwell, whose full-hearted Christian 
love warmed toward every one in trouble, deter- 
mined to help James Williamson, in some way, 
over the difficulties with which sickness had sur- 
rounded him. He talked with him about his 
plan, and the poor man wept with thankfulness 
that he had such a friend ; and the good Deacon 
had then set forth upon a mission to his neigh- 
bors — a mission .of loving-kindness. 

He had appealed, among the first, to the rich 
banker, Stephen Endicott, and had asked him to 
generously help the unfortunate man in his sick- 
ness and trouble ; and, much to his surprise, had 
met with a point-blank refusal. He had seen Mr. 
Endicott's name in the newspapers as a tolerably 
liberal subscriber to benevolent objects, and had 
regarded him as a charitable man. So, when the 
latter said, " No, Deacon ; I can't do anything for 
him," he was surprised, disappointed, chagrined; 
for he had expected a gift from the banker which 
would be the nucleus of a substantial and perma- 
nent benefit for his sick neighbor. As he was 
preparing to take his leave, Mr. Endicott con- 
tinued : 

" Williamson has only himself to blame for being 



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5 



where he is. I offered him a chance, at one time, 
where he might have done well ; but from some 
visionary notion of duty, I think he called it, he 
refused to accept, and you see the result. No, I 
can't help him." 

" I am sorry/' said the Deacon simply. 

" Well, you see, Deacon," continued the banker, 
" I can't afford to help men who are not practical 
— men who do not recognize and use their oppor- 
tunities." And then followed the words with which 
our narrative opens. 

" Those are true, wise words," said the Deacon, 
who knew what the opportunity offered to Wil- 
liamson had been, and knew, also, the grand self- 
abnegation that had caused him to refuse it. He 
added, 

" Will you please write those words down for 
me, Mr. Endicott?" 

" Certainly, Deacon, certainly," the latter quickly 
responded, flattered that his words had caught the 
good man's attention and met his approval. " I 
thought a man of your good sense and judgment 
must agree with me ;" and he quickly and neatly 
transcribed the sentence. 

" The expression reminds me of the words of 
our Saviour relative to opportunities," said the 
Deacon thoughtfully. " Would it trouble you too 
much to write them also?" he asked as Mr. Endi- 
cott looked up from the paper. 

" Certainly not," he replied ; " I will do so with 
pleasure." 



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" I see that you have room," remarked the Dea- 
con, looking at the paper. " You may write one 
text above your words, and another below. Above, 
please write — 

" ' Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the 
least <tf these my brethren, ye have done it unto me! 

" And below— 

" ' Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of 
these, ye did it not to me! " 

" H'm ! h'm ! A very neat conceit, Deacon ! 
very neat !" answered the banker, who keenly felt 
the implied reproof in the Deacon's request, as he 
hastily complied with it. 

He handed the paper to the Deacon, and then 
said, in a soft, conciliatory, half-apologetic way, 

" Why, here, Deacon; ordinarily I should not 
do anything in such a case as Williamson's, but, 
as you seem to have the matter at heart, here is a 
trifle. I give it because you ask it, you know." 

The flattery did not blind the Deacon's eyes, and 
he was too honest to take the five-dollar bill offered 
him on such an understanding; and he said, 

" No ; in that case the gift would be to me, and 
from me to him. I did not come to ask it for 
myself, and I could not give that amount. If you 
wish to give it to Williamson because he is in 
need, I can take it. I cannot take it on my own 
account." 

Stephen Endicott was surprised that any one 
should, for any reason, refuse a gift of five dollars ; 
and his surprise gave time for his cupidity to gain 



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7 



the ascendancy, and, saying, a little brusquely, " I 
have given you my views about him," he put the 
money back in his pocket-book. 

The Deacon, after folding carefully the paper 
the banker had copied, put it in his pocket-folder 
and started out once more on his errand of neigh- 
borly kindness. 

Poor Deacon Goodwell ! His patience was tried 
more than once that day, and, had it not been that 
his heart, sanctified by the love of his Saviour, w T as 
filled to overflowing with good feeling and Chris- 
tian sympathy for his afflicted neighbor, he would 
have eone home discouraged before he had trav- 
ersed half the neighborhood w T hose benevolence, 
he had calculated, would serve that neighbor's 
need. If he had ever read Hood's Bridge of Sighs, 
he would assuredly have quoted those oft-used 
words : " Alas for the rarity of Christian charity 
under the sun !" But, although disappointed, he 
w T as a man not easily discouraged in his endeavors 
to do good, and before he went home he had found 
enough liberal people who would give for the love 
of giving, and for the love of Christ, to make it 
certain that the Williamson family would not suf- 
fer for a time at least. 

" Melindy," said the Deacon to his wife that 
night, as he recounted the experiences of the 
day, "I never knew until to-day how much the 
Saviour meant by the word ' inasmuch/ I did 
not know how much the giving meant to our 
souls, nor how much the withholding meant." 



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" Why, Deacon, I think you ought to know 
about the giving, if anybody does, for you always 
give when you have an opportunity," she answer- 
ed with wifely pride. 

" Yes," responded the Deacon drowsily, for he 
had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head 
touched the pillow. " Opportunity, op-por-tu- 
ni-ty." And opportunities, and Stephen Endicott, 
and James Williamson, and the two Scripture 
texts became inextricably mixed in his mind, 
blended themselves together, and disappeared. 

Melinda leaned over and kissed his rugged face 
before she composed herself to sleep. 

The caress aroused him, so that he softly mur- 
mured, " Inasmuch," after which untroubled sleep 
settled upon all the household, which rested under 
the divine protection asked for by the good man 
in his evening prayer. 

CHAPTER II. 

OPPORTUNITIES — AN OBJECT-LESSON IN A DREAM. 

When the Deacon left Stephen Endicott, on 
the morning of their interview, the latter went to 
his counting-room and was soon absorbed in his 
work, and by his close attention thereto, and 
the seizing of opportunities brought to him by 
other men's necessities, he had, ere the closing 
hours of business, added several other five-dollar 



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9 



bills to the one Deacon Goodwell had refused to 
accept. He went home feeling rather well pleased 
with the day's transactions, which, after his frugal 
supper, he reviewed somewhat in detail. Then he 
slowly conned his evening paper and chatted 
a while with a favorite clerk who happened in. 
Then the interview he had had with Deacon Good- 
well presented itself to his mind, and, although he 
would have preferred the contemplation of his 
gains, he could not drive it out of his thoughts. 
It made him feel uncomfortable. He fully under- 
stood that he was less of a man in Deacon Good- 
well's estimation than before the conversation, but 
he was not mentally and morally acute enough to 
determine the whole reason of it. This condition 
of things worried him. He valued the good 
opinion of the Deacon highly, and wanted it, as 
he did that of good men generally. He so much 
coveted their good opinions that it made him 
really liberal to the Church and its benevolences. 
He paid liberally for the support of the gospel, 
and was always ready to open his house for the 
entertainment of ministers. These facts had con- 
tributed to the good opinion the Deacon had of 
him up to the time of the interview, and, as Ste- 
phen Endicott was well aware, had also contributed 
to Deacon Goodwell's disappointment at his re- 
fusal to give to Williamson ; and they contributed 
at this time to the banker's discomfort, and to 
his knowledge of the ground he had lost with the 
Deacon ; and the more he thought of it, the more 



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he was annoyed. It troubled him far more than 
he was willing to acknowledge, even to himself, 

Stephen Endicott had a conscience. It was a 
conscience which had, to some extent, been awak- 
ened; and was constantly reminding him that it 
was his duty to take a stand before the world as a 
Christian man ; and this sense of duty had con- 
tended against his avarice until he was rent, even 
as the man who was possessed of devils in the 
presence of Christ. There is no devil in hell that 
can torment a human being more fearfully than a 
sense of duty, born of conscience, that struggles 
with an evil passion which has long possessed the 
mastery of the soul. These elements of good and 
evil fought in Stephen Endicott's heart that night, 
although he could not understand the reason, and 
he retired to his couch with a new sense of fear 
and a strange unrest. For a time he was sleep- 
less. When at last he slept, his trouble was ever 
present with him. In his dreams the room seemed 
covered with copies of the paper he had written 
for Deacon Goodwell. He was oppressed by the 
feeling that the good man was in the room, and 
it seemed as though he could see his tall form 
towering above him like a great giant, and that the 
Deacon was pointing his finger at him and saying, 

" Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of 
these, ye did it 7tot to me!' 

Then, in his dream, it seemed that the rugged 
features of Deacon Goodwell slowly faded from 
his vision, and in their stead another face looked 



INASMUCH. 



1 1 



down upon him with infinite tenderness and sad- 
ness. It had softer curves and fairer outlines, and 
through its wondrous sweetness and purity there 
shone the transcendent glory of a radiant beauty. 
As he gazed with breathless wonder and awe, he 
saw the pierced hands, the riven side, and even the 
cross itself, and then he knew that he was in the 
very presence of Him who had suffered and died 
upon Calvary. He felt that those pitying eyes, 
which seemed to pierce his innermost soul, were 
looking longingly and earnestly upon him. Sor- 
row, gentleness, and love unspeakable beamed from 
them, and in their fathomless depths he could see 
the boundless mercy of God reaching toward him 
and beseeching him to turn from selfishness unto 
holiness. And while he gazed, those wondrous, 
loving eyes looked from him and beyond him, and 
Stephen Endicott also turned and saw a sick-bed, 
and on it was James Williamson, with his family 
gathered about it. Still farther off was the face 
of Harvey McMasters, who had sold his only cow 
and his poultry to pay to the banker a debt of a 
few dollars ; and his family had fared hard ever 
since, even to being helped by the town. At a 
still greater distance he saw Bridget McEnery, 
who had been sick, and had not been able to 
meet the interest due on her little home, which 
was more than half paid for. She had tried very 
hard to keep it, but he, Stephen Endicott, had 
foreclosed the mortgage and bought the property, 
and still owned it ; and poor Bridget had taken to 



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drink and gone to the bad. And he saw others, 
and yet others, whom he might have helped, and 
still have had enough and to spare. As he turned 
his eyes from the scene he thought that he heard 
Deacon Goodwell say, in slow, measured tones, 

u Opportunities are the tests of character. They 
are the scales on which human judgment is weigh- 
ed. A life is successful or it is a failure as its op- 
portunities are utilized or neglected. " 

Then it seemed to Stephen Endicott that the 
voice of the Crucified One said, 

" Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least 
of these, ye did it not to me." 

The ineffable tenderness, the unutterable sor- 
row, the solemnity of judgment with which this 
was said struck deep into the heart of the dreamer ; 
and though, for the remaining hours of repose, the 
scenes passed into shadow, the memory troubled 
him as he awoke. 

His sleep did not bring him its usual rest, and 
when he went forth to his daily avocations he was 
so haggard that men asked him if he was sick, or 
what was the matter. 

He told them that he had suffered fearfully from 
nightmare during the previous night, and his man- 
ner was such that no more questions were asked. 

Yes, Stephen Endicott suffered from a night- 
mare, and its memory was never to leave him until 
his soul, stirred to its inmost depths, should finally 
determine the question of its own destiny. 



INASMUCH. 



13 



CHAPTER III. 

A QUESTION OF STEWARDSHIP. 

We have said that Mr. Endicott was worried 
and annoyed because he felt that he had fallen in 
the estimation of the Deacon ; and, even more 
than the memory of the dream, this thought 
haunted him during the day. As he walked home 
that evening he thought of it constantly, and 
sought to devise some means to regain what he 
had lost. 

It was a singular thing, however, that in his 
present condition of mind he did not once regret 
his refusal to help James Williamson. To have 
helped him in the manner desired would have 
been contrary to the whole theory and practice of 
his life. Nevertheless, in view of the effect that he 
felt the refusal had produced upon the mind of 
Deacon Goodwell, he would, in some other chan- 
nel of benevolence that would meet the Deacon's 
approbation and secure the applause of the church, 
give freely one thousand — yes, two thousand — dol- 
lars, or even more ; and the gift, once accepted and 
applied, would be a matter of complaisant pride to 
him as long as he lived, or, rather, as long as men 
spoke commendingly of his benevolence. He 
thought for a long time ; then he arose, took his 
hat and cane, and started hesitatingly for Deacon 
Goodwell's. He wanted to talk with the Deacon, 
yet he dreaded to meet him. 



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The Deacon, as we have seen, slept soundly the 
night after his interview with the banker. Still, 
when he awoke the next morning he was oppress- 
ed by a feeling of disappointment, which, as his 
faculties assumed their normal activity, he had no 
trouble in attributing to the interview we have de- 
scribed. He felt that Mr. Endicott had not justi T 
fied the esteem in which he had always held him. 
He was disappointed in him ; he was sorry for 
him ; he had so much feeling about the matter 
that he even regretted that he. had called. 

The result of this feeling was that he made a 
mental analysis of the banker's life and motives, 
based upon his last experience with him, and this 
gave him a clearer insight into the real character 
of the man. When he saw him approaching his 
door he was better prepared to understand his 
errand than he would have been twenty-four hours 
earlier. The Deacon was a shrewd man. He was 
a man whose judgment was generally accurate as 
well as keen, and to this fact was largely due the 
disappointment of which we have spoken. He 
was not likely to be twice deceived, and when 
Stephen Endicott came to his house he probably 
apprehended the motives that brought him as well 
as the banker himself. 

He answered the latter's ring at the door. 

" Good-evening, Mr. Endicott ; walk in ;" and 
he extended his hand, which Mr. Endicott seized 
and shook vigorously. 

" Good -evening, Deacon, good -evening. I 



INASMUCH. 



thought I would drop in and have a little chat," 
he said, with some embarassment in his manner. 

" I am glad to see you," said the Deacon cor- 
dially ; and, to place his visitor at his ease, he 
introduced some local topic of conversation, to 
which Mr. Endicott, who was evidently anxious 
to commence talking of the matter uppermost in 
his mind, responded in monosyllables. 

As he abruptly approached the subject, his first 
words gave the Deacon the key to the whole situa- 
tion as it was mapped in his visitor's mind, and 
prepared him to look at it in a purely business 
light. 

" I felt sorry, Deacon, that our views did not 
agree in the matter we talked about yesterday; 
but, as you know, we all like to do good in our 
own way. Now, we bankers, from the nature of 
our business, have large opportunities for observ- 
ing men's methods of doing business, and we get 
at facts that are likely to escape other men's eyes, 
and our estimates are usually correct; yes, sir, 
usually correct," he said, dropping into the prompt, 
business-like tone of his counting-room. 

" I suppose our ways of doing business lead us 
to systematize matters more closely than other 
men, and we get to doing it in outside matters. 
Even our benevolences are systematized, and are 
governed by certain rules — rules that are based 
on sound business principles," he added, some- 
what impressively ; " and the lines in which we 
give are, of course, governed largely by these rules. 



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INASMUCH. 



So you will probably see why we did not agree 
yesterday." 

Stephen Endicott stopped speaking, and re- 
viewed this expression of his ideas with some little 
complacency as having excused his action toward 
Williamson, and as having opened the way auspi- 
ciously to a better understanding with the Deacon. 

The latter had listened attentively and with in- 
terest to the banker's remarks. He frankly accept- 
ed what commended itself to his judgment, and as 
frankly discarded what did not meet his approba- 
tion. Nevertheless, he spoke reflectively : 

" I think, Mr. Endicott, that we cannot systema- 
tize too closely in fixing the sum of our benevo- 
lences ; but it strikes me that the matter of their 
bestowment should have more of the spontaneous 
element in it — a showing forth, in the giving itself, 
that it was the heart that prompted it." 

" Possibly, possibly," answered his guest, his 
brows knitting as he contemplated a thought that 
was almost new to him. " But " — and he laughed 
slightly — " we couldn't do business on that plan ; 
all our notes would go to protest." 

"True," responded the Deacon, smiling. "But 
you must remember, Mr. Endicott, that banking 
and benevolence are not synonymous terms." 

" Ha, ha!" laughed the banker. " Well turned, 
Deacon !" Then he added briskly, " But this brings 
me, Deacon, to a matter I wanted to talk with you 
about. I have been thinking that our church was 
badly in need of repairs, and that now is as good 



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17 



a time as any to start a movement in that direc- 
tion." 

He looked inquiringly at Deacon Goodwell ; 
and the Deacon, somewhat surprised at the turn 
of the conversation, looked questioningly back at 
the banker. 

" The fact is, Deacon, I think our people have 
been 'slack' about keeping up repairs on the 
church, and, unless somebody moves in the mat- 
ter in a business-like way, it may go on for years 
as it is. Now, I have a proposition to make to 
you, as one of the representative men of the 
church, which, if accepted, will tend to place mat- 
ters on a good footing." 

4 4 What is your proposition, Mr. Endicott?" in- 
quired the church official, with much the same 
coolness that might be expected to characterize a 
railroad magnate dealing with a farmer who pro- 
posed furnishing him with " ties." 

u Well, Deacon," was the reply, " I have thought 
that, if the members of the church would agree to 
suitably and handsomely furnish it after its com- 
pletion, I would undertake to repair the building 
at my own expense." 

The Deacon, whose heart was enlisted in the 
welfare of the church more earnestly, perhaps, 
than in anything else except doing his full duty 
as a Christian man, was becoming intensely in- 
terested in the banker's proposition, and waited 
expectantly for its completion. 

" My idea is this," Mr. Endicott continued: 
2 



1 8 INASMUCH. 

"that if the church will raise, say, a thousand 
dollars to furnish the building, I will give two 
thousand dollars, or possibly three thousand, to 
be expended in repairs — enough, at any rate, to 
put it in snug shape." 

The Deacon's nether lip quivered in the sup- 
pression of a smile that had almost forced itself to 
his face in view of the banker's well-hedged offer 
— one dependent for the contingency of its ac- 
ceptance upon a responsive gift from the congre- 
gation — an acceptance which, from the knowledge 
each had of the resources to be drawn upon, was, 
at least, a matter of possible doubt. 

The good man, however, before he answered, 
had made up his mind that the terms should be 
met, and he said, almost immediately, 

" This is a very generous offer, Mr. Endicott, 
and one which I think will be cordially met by 
the church." 

" Well, Deacon, I will be ready to fulfill my 
part at any time," he replied in his brusque busi- 
ness manner ; and then he added, a little patroniz- 
ingly, " You see, if I gave to all such cases as you 
presented to me yesterday, I should not be in a 
position to manage such matters as these." 

" Yet," answered Deacon Goodwell slowly, as 
if deliberating while he spoke, " has not God 
blessed you sufficiently with riches, so that our 
Saviour, who spent his life doing good, might 
justly say to you, 'This ought ye to have done, 
and not to have left the other undone' ?" 



INASMUCH. 



*9 



" Why, Deacon," said the banker, laughing un- 
easily, "you church people pull us outsiders up 
pretty short. Now, I thought I was doing a 
pretty good thing in making this offer, and that 
it was better so to do than to give in small sums 
*to every applicant. You must not hold us too 
strictly to account." 

" Whose fault is it that you are an outsider ? 
Is it God's fault ? Has he not blessed you with 
wealth for which you ought to thank him with 
your life's efforts ? Has he not made you a 
steward of the good things of this world, which it 
is your duty to dispense to the worthy at all times 
when there is need ?" And then he added more 
gently, as he saw his guest quail under his vig- 
orous questioning, "Perhaps it is the fault of 
us who are in the church. You may see too 
much in us that gives you the impression that we 
are not sincere." 

" Not in you, Deacon ! No !" and Stephen Endi- 
cott spoke feelingly and earnestly, for he was get- 
ting a revelation of himself as well as of the truth. 

" I feel deeply on this subject of giving," con- 
tinued the Deacon, not heeding the interruption. 
" Your gift is a good thing — good for the church, 
good for you ; and yet I doubt if the benefit you 
derive from it will be as great as if you had freely 
given James Williamson five dollars." 

Mr. Endicott looked at the Deacon questioning- 
ly, and was extremely puzzled by his words ; he did 
not speak, however, and the Deacon proceeded : 



20 



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" You would ask why ? Your gift to the church 
is a noble one, desirable and acceptable as a help 
to the worship of God and to the progress of his 
work in the world ; but it is not a gift of impera- 
tive necessity. The present church edifice would 
serve the honest purposes of worship without the 
repairs, and be as good, possibly, as our people 
would be able to worship in without your gener- 
ous gift.' , And then he asked abruptly, " You 
believe, of course, Mr. Endicott, that Christ is the 
Son of God ?" 

" Most certainly !" he answered, his dream re- 
curring to him with startling vividness. 

" Well," said the Deacon, " if you read the New 
Testament from Matthew to Revelation, you will 
find no instance where Christ or his disciples 
wrought a miracle except to meet some great 
need of a human being ; and in most instances it 
was a physical need. The lepers, the halt, the 
maimed, the blind, the sick, were healed ; the 
hungry were fed. Where need was, there came 
the love of Christ. And it has always seemed to 
me that the acceptable giving of his people, 
whether in the Church or not, was that which 
recognized a human need and lovingly strove to 
meet it." 

" Perhaps you are right, Deacon ; perhaps you 
are right," said Stephen Endicott as he arose to 
take his leave. " I must think it over. I shall 
have to give more attention to these matters." 



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21 



CHAPTER IV. 

SEEKING THE " POUND OF FLESH." 

As he walked to his lonely home he did think 
of all the Deacon had said. He thought of it and 
of his dream long after he retired. But sleep un- 
troubled by dreams finally came to him, and his 
slumber was unbroken until he was awakened by 
the sound of his breakfast-bell. Waking, he did 
not feel assured that he had gained the point he 
desired by his visit to the Deacon, but he felt bet- 
ter than before he had seen him. Still, his dream 
troubled him, and he was only able to shut it from 
his memory when busy with the work of his count- 
ing-room. 

The Deacon lost no time in securing to the 
church the benefits of Mr. Endicott's proposal ; 
and as, under the hands of skilled workmen, the 
structure showed improvement, the congratula- 
tions the banker received from many quarters 
served to restore to him, in a large degree, the 
self-satisfaction and complacency he had lost in 
his encounters with the Deacon. But, although 
he tried as hard as he might to shut out the 
" nightmare " from which he had suffered much, 
he was never able to rid himself entirely of its 
terrors. He was not, however, affected by it as 
regarded his business life — unless, indeed, he grew 
harder and more merciless to those whom misfor- 



22 



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tune or fault, it mattered not which, placed within 
the power of his grasping hands. Rich and poor 
alike had felt the clutch of his avarice, and they 
judged all his actions from the standpoint of his 
recognized selfishness. How strongly this feeling 
was fixed in the community was shown by the 
criticism of his motives which came out as people 
remarked upon his gift to the church. 

On one occasion an admiring friend remarked 
upon the growing comeliness of the building, and 
said, 

" A generous thing in Mr. Eridicott." 

" Yes," replied his companion ; " but it won't 
save his soul. Perhaps he may plead it in miti- 
gation of his punishment." 

But Stephen Endicott himself knew that he was 
struggling against Omnipotence. He knew in his 
heart what he ought to do, but he could not see 
his way clear to the doing of it. He was most 
thoroughly to be pitied. His whole life was a 
protest against what the revelations of the past 
few months had shown him to be his duty. He 
was at a loss. In the common acceptation of the 
term, he had always been an honest man. He 
had never done anything which the law would not 
fully sanction. He could not understand why he 
was troubled. He had, in the eye of the law, only 
taken his own in his transactions, and the whole 
theory and practice of his life had convinced him 
that he might do what he would with his own ; 
consequently, he fought against the God-given 



INASMUCH. 



23 



revelation of his own selfishness and of the high- 
er law of the Son of God — new to him, because 
it had only recently been brought home to his 
personal experience. He was to be pitied be- 
cause the business in which he was engaged 
depended largely for its success upon the theo- 
ries on which his life had been moulded. A bank 
must be prompt, and it must enforce promptness 
from its customers. Its interests must be protect- 
ed, no matter how other interests suffered. Bank- 
ing; must be done. Was it all wrong- ? He made 
the mistake of personalizing his business in him- 
self. It had been his life's mistake, and it was 
hard for him to realize that, with all his accumula- 
tions, his life had really been a failure. He fiercely 
fought against the revelation. 

Meanwhile, James Williamson had, with the 
help afforded him through the Deacon's efforts, 
recovered from his sickness, but was entirely with- 
out means to do anything at his trade, as he had 
no stock on hand to amount to anything, and he 
could not get it without money. He had tried to 
get it of several men, but the people were not 
generally of the class that had money to lend, and 
he had finally approached Stephen Endicott, who 
always had money. 

" Yes," said the banker, in answer to the poor 
tradesman's almost discouraged question, " I can 
let you have the money on proper security." 

Williamson told him he could give him a mort- 
gage on his little place, worth about one thousand 



24 



INASMUCH. 



dollars, and he would like to get four hundred 
dollars. 

Stephen Endicott shook his head. 

" No, no ! Too much money on such a place," 
he said. " You may make a mortgage for three 
hundred dollars, and I will let you have two hun- 
dred and seventy-five dollars on it, you to pay the 
interest semi-annually, and the mortgage subject 
to foreclosure on your failure to meet any pay- 
ment, principal or interest." 

" Those are hard terms, Mr. Endicott. Could 
you not at least let me have the full amount of the 
mortgage ?" asked the poor man. 

" No, sir," answered the banker. " Those are 
my terms. If you can do better elsewhere, you 
are at liberty to do so. We do not care to bother 
with these little matters. We simply do it in the 
way of accommodation." 

What could the poor rrlan do ? Only as other 
poor men would do and have done. He accepted 
less than would serve his needs, paid an exorbi- 
tant price for the loan, and took it at the risk of 
all he had in the world — struggled with it to ac- 
complish more than was possible, overworked 
himself until he was again sick, and failed in his 
first payment of interest. That is, he lacked a 
little of the amount necessary, and the banker 
would not accept a part and wait for the rest, but 
began foreclosure proceedings at once. 

We have given, in brief, a fearful six months' 
history for James Williamson, who, prostrated by 



INASMUCH. 



25 



overwork and almost penniless, could only look 
forward to seeing himself and his family home- 
less and destitute. 

How was it with Stephen Endicott ? He, in 
the terrible struggle which selfishness was waging 
against his awakened sense of duty, had morbidly 
charged his sufferings upon unfortunate James 
Williamson, and this had made him almost unfeel- 
ing in his dealings with the poor man. He fully 
intended to take his home from him for the paltry 
sum he had loaned him, using the accruing profit 
as a salve for his lost peace of mind. 

But God knew the environments which had 
helped to foster the rich man's selfishness and 
make him the man he w 7 as. He knew, too, that 
his unstifled conscience still urged him toward his 
highest duty ; and once more the love of Christ was 
to plead for the soul that had resisted it so long. 

CHAPTER V. 

JUSTICE AND MERCY OVERCOME THE WORLD. 

Deacon Goo'dwell had been much occupied 
of late with business of his own, and was not aware 
of the desperate condition of Williamson's affairs. 
He had heard he was sick, but nothing further. 

Happening in the post-office one day, a neigh- 
bor remarked, 

" It is too bad that James Williamson must be 
sold out, isn't it?" 



26 



INASMUCH. 



" What's that?" asked the Deacon quickly. 
The man pointed to the printed notice of a sale 
on the wall. 

" He sha'n't be if I can help it," exclaimed the 
Deacon ; and, feeling for his pocket-book, and 
taking therefrom a carefully-folded paper, he add- 
ed indignantly, 

" Stephen Endicott shall know what I think of 
that transaction ;" and he placed beside the notice 
of sale the Scripture texts and Stephen Endicott's 
words just as he had transcribed them in the inter- 
view with which this story opens. The Deacon 
was too angry to trust himself to talk, and turned 
and left the building. 

Those who were in the post-office read the 
paper he had posted beside the notice of sale and 
exchanged significant glances. 

The stage rolled up and left the mail, and ere 
long Stephen Endicott came to the office. His 
steps were short and brisk, and he greeted his 
neighbors as he came in. Finally, he cast his 
eyes toward his notice of the sale. Beside it he 
saw the paper he had written, and just as he had 
written it. He staggered back as though he had 
been struck, and started for his house at his fastest 
walk. People who saw him said his face was ter- 
ribly flushed ; some thought he had been drink- 
ing. To one man who wished to speak with him 
he said imperiously, 

" Wait; I am in a hurry." 

He reached home and sat down in the easy- 



INASMUCH. 



2/ 



chair in his library. His housekeeper, thinking 
she heard his step, came in to see what was the 
matter, for it was an unusual time for him to be 
at home. She found him insensible, his face suf- 
fused with blood, and breathing heavily. 

She went to the door and called for help. A 
physician was speedily summoned. Fortunately 
— or, rather, through the good providence of God 
— he was a skillful one, and was able shortly to 
relieve, for the time being, the more alarming 
symptoms of apoplexy, and restore the sufferer 
to consciousness. 

He opened his eyes and looked around with a 
half-frightened gaze. His eyes finally rested on 
the physician. 

" Am I dying, doctor ?" he asked. 

" No," answered the physician. 

" I am glad," he said, " for I have much that I 
ought to do. Will I get well ?" 

" No. I may as well say frankly that a recur- 
rence of the attack is probable within a few hours 
— forty-eight at the most — and that you probably 
will not survive it. All arrangements necessary 
to be made should be attended to at once, for 
your mind is at present as clear as ever. It may 
not remain so." 

" Thank you, doctor, for telling me the truth. 
Now will you send at once for Deacon Good- 
well ?" 

" Would you not rather have the minister ?" 
suggested the doctor. 



28 



INASMUCH. 



" No," answered the sick man Impatiently ; 
" Deacon Goodwell, and no one else." 

" All right," said the doctor ; and, not many 
minutes later, the good Deacon was sitting at the 
banker's bedside. The indignation he had felt a 
short time before was all gone, and in its place a 
great pity had come. 

" Deacon," said the banker, feebly reaching out 
his hand to meet the other's grasp, "lam in a 
bad way, as you see, and I sent for you because 
you have always been honest with me, and have 
never hesitated to tell me the truth. As you 
know, I have accumulated a great deal of money 
in my life, but it took this blow to convince me 
of the fact that my. life has been a lamentable fail- 
ure. I do not think that I am entirely to blame 
for such a result, as my schooling in business led 
me naturally into many of the mistakes I have 
made ; but that does not affect the result. I have 
had some dim conception that my life was wrong 
ever since you asked me to help James William- 
son. I saw it vividly in a dream the night follow- 
ing, but I have not understood it at all. It is so 
different from the teachings by which my life has 
been governed. You gave me a better idea of the 
truth when you talked about my contribution to 
the church repairs ; but still, as I have said, I did 
not understand it, and I constantly fought against 
it, thinking I could do as I would with my own. 
Yet, feeling the contrary to be the fact, poor James 
Williamson has had to bear the weight of my scorn 



INASMUCH 



2 9 



of myself. But when I saw your indignation blaze 
out from the texts I had copied for you and my 
own words between them, I realized what you 
meant, and the knowledge has killed me. A few 
hours more, and I shall get away from the failure 
I have made here. I shall go to the presence of 
God a bankrupt." 

" So do we all," answered the Deacon solemnly. 

" Surely not you, Deacon ?" 

" Yes, bankrupt in everything else except my 
faith in Christ," said the Deacon. 

" I do not understand, Deacon. Explain your- 
self." 

" Well, Mr. Endicott, were I, bankrupt in prop- 
erty, to ask you to loan me money at your bank 
on my note, what would you say ?" 

" That you must get a good, responsible en- 
dorser." 

" Why ?" 

" So that the bank should not run the risk of 
loss." 

" Well, if I brought an endorser who was fully 
responsible, and willing to shoulder the loss if I 
should fail, the money would be freely mine to 
use, would it not?" 

" Certainly." 

" Well, you and I are bankrupts at the gate of 
heaven. Nothing that we have done or can do 
ourselves will gain for us its treasures. The 
keeper of the gate calls out, ' In whose name do 
you come hither ?' Happy are we if we can an- 



30 



INASMUCH. 



swer, i There is none other name under heaven 
given among men, whereby we must be saved.' " 

The Deacon's voice became singularly soft and 
musical as he uttered these words, and they seem- 
ed like balm to the troubled soul of the banker. 

" Then nothing I have done or can do will help 
me there ?" he asked. 

" Nothing," said the Deacon. 

" What then shall I do ? I have no claim on 
Christ," said the sick man. 

" ' Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou 
shalt be saved,' " replied the Deacon ; and he add- 
ed, " Believe in him as you do in an endorser who 
is so perfectly responsible that there can be no 
question — whose name makes any note good." 

Stephen Endicott hated to feel himself so utterly 
bankrupt, and he was silent for a few moments. 

" I see," he said at length ; " Christ's name will 
make me good with God. Oh, Christ, give me 
thy name !" and his frame shook as he offered 
this simple prayer. 

" Deacon, will you pray for me?" 

The Deacon answered not, but, kneeling at the 
bedside, poured out his heart in thanks, in tender 
supplication, and in Christian love at the throne 
of mercy where he so long had worshiped. 

" Deacon," said Stephen Endicott, " that sale 
must be stopped. If you will go to that drawer 
yonder, in my secretary, you will find the mort- 
gage. It is recorded, as you will see. Now, if 
you will help me up a little, I will write across it, 



INASMUCH. 



31 



if I can, ' Satisfied by being paid in full/ and I will 
ask you to see that it is discharged of record." 

Having accomplished this, he said, 

" Now, there is one thing more I would like you 
to do. James Williamson would not have broken 
down in health nor failed in his payment if I had 
dealt fairly with him. If I had loaned him the 
money he asked, and not made the terms hard, he 
would have been prosperous to-day. So I owe him 
further reparation. If you will go to that safe, 
turn it until 45 stands opposite the centre-point, 
then turn it to the right five times, back to the left 
one-half way, then to the right until 36 is opposite 
the centre-point, it will open." 

The Deacon followed the directions and swung 
open the heavy door. 

" There, in that little compartment with the key 
in it, you will find some money — one thousand 
dollars, I think. Take out the topmost package, 
which contains five hundred dollars. Help me to 
mark this slip of paper to put in its place, and lock 
the safe," he said with something like his old busi- 
ness precision. " This money I want you to give 
to James Williamson from me- — not as a gift, but 
as restitution for wrong suffered at my hands. 
There are many things like this I should like to 
do," he said, " but I shall not be able." 

He rested for a few minutes, and then said, 
rather sadly, 

" I suppose it is but just that the end of my life 
should come suddenly. God means me to leave 



32 



INASMUCH, 



to the world the full legacy of my lost opportuni- 
ties — to leave them, and the suffering I have 
caused, unatoned for by me, that his mercy may 
show the clearer in redeeming my soul at the last. 
I should be glad to live long enough to undo 
some of the wrong, simply as a matter of justice. 
I should be glad to do something to show that 
the love of Christ has redeemed me from the self- 
ishness and hardness into which I had grown. 
But God knows best. I have not ministered as I 
might to his little ones. I have missed those 
sacred opportunities, and yet I have been minis- 
tered unto. Deacon, ' Inasmuch — ' " 

The end had come, and Stephen Endicott's 
immortal soul had passed into the keeping of the 
Saviour who had redeemed it. To the world at* 
large he died as he had lived — a hard, unfeeling 
man. The suffering he had caused many being 
unalleviated, it was his punishment to die without 
that deep lament which follows good men to their 
graves, and, although saved by Heaven's mercy 
at the eleventh hour, to go with empty hands. 

Deacon Goodwell, though often questioned, said 
little about the rich man's death. It was to him 
a sacred thing — a revelation of the power of 
Christ's love and of the immutable justice of God. 
He said to his best friends, " Stephen Endicott 
died better than he had lived" — that was all. He 
did not dare to weaken by his words the fearful 
lesson that this death had taught — of the failu/e 
of a life which the world had called successful. 



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